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From the archives: Longueuil rescuers made the Women's General Hospital possible

Portrait of 11-year-old Hebert L. Reddy (1866), who later became a prominent Montreal doctor who dedicated over half a century of his life to the Women's General Hospital on Tupper St. In 1946, nine years after he died, the hospital began accepting male patients and was renamed the Herbert Reddy Memorial. The hospital closed in 1997.George Martin

This story was first published on April 27, 2008, in the Montreal Gazette.

“The River – The ice still holds as we write on Monday evening, but it is evident that it cannot much longer. There have been several little “shoves,” and a large one opposite Longueuil.”

Gazette, Tuesday, Apr. 24, 1855

It was a tricky time of the year for travellers. Ferries could not yet cross between Montreal and the South Shore because the St. Lawrence was still blocked by ice. But a long-delayed spring had finally arrived and the ice was melting fast, so taking a sleigh or even walking across presented its own dangers.

Nonetheless, about two dozen Montrealers decided to take a chance. They had a train to catch to the United States, and the terminal was in Longueuil. The Victoria Bridge, the first that would span the river, was still five years from completion.

The party included John Reddy, a doctor at the Montreal General, his wife and his infant son Herbert. There was Thomas Hood, a piano manufacturer. George Sanderson was a pioneer in using propeller-driven vessels to move freight up to Lake Ontario.

They hired a man wise in the ways of the river to guide them across on foot. With several others drawing their luggage on sleds, the party set out early in the afternoon.

Their guide, a plug of tobacco in his cheek, was insouciant. With a long stick he probed the ice in front of them. No one had anything to fear, he repeated – whenever he wasn’t spitting tobacco juice onto the ice.

The going was difficult under the warming sun and on the softening surface. Then, with the city far behind them and Longueuil seemingly no closer, they heard a series of loud, gun-like reports. They had no doubt what it meant. The annual ice-shove on the St. Lawrence was at hand, “the large shove … we have mentioned,” as The Gazette said. The ice was breaking up; with frightening speed – perhaps within hours – the river would be clear.

They tried to move faster, the women and older men like Sanderson struggling to keep up. The cracking noises grew louder. Then, a new horror: Undeniably, the ice had begun to move beneath their feet. Huge blocks were separating and starting to slide, one over another.

The travellers were in mortal peril. Hood cautiously edged forward in search of a way through, but coming to some frazil he suddenly plunged into the frigid water. Only by a miracle was he able to pull himself out.

Still, Hood and the others had no choice. They had to press on. And so they did, only to meet a new barrier. The current was flowing out from the South Shore, and an impassable stretch of water was rapidly opening up before them.

News of their plight spread rapidly. On the Montreal harbourfront, people gathered and watched helplessly, some through telescopes. From time to time, the travellers disappeared from view as huge blocks of ice mounded up and took on new shapes; A rumour spread through the city that all had been crushed or drowned.

On the Longueuil side, fragile canoes and skiffs were launched from shore, but ice floes rushing past made their progress painfully slow. Several more of the trapped party fell through. Like Hood, they managed to scramble out, but all were fast losing their will to keep up the fight.

Several slipped into unconsciousness, and only with great difficulty were prevented from slipping into the water.

Suddenly, an exhausted George Sanderson collapsed. Reddy and another doctor, James Crawford, did what they could but it was no use. The old man was dead.

At last the first of the rescuers arrived. The women and children were embarked, as well as Sanderson’s body. As more boats drew up, it was the turn of the others. They were almost too late for Thomas Hood. He was the last to be rescued; once again, he fell in and had to swim for his life to a boat.

Fortuitously, Sanderson’s was the only death. The Longueuil rescuers even managed to pick up most of the luggage. Only Hood’s overcoat and a trunk belonging to Reddy were lost.

By such a chance did little Herbert Reddy survive, eventually to become a doctor like his father. For more than 50 years, he was the moving force behind the Women’s General Hospital, which in time was relocated to Tupper St. near Dorchester Blvd. A natural death finally claimed him in 1936, and in 1945 the hospital was renamed the Herbert Reddy Memorial in his honour.

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